


Brain and Nerve and Beating Heart

by sunriseshades



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 7th year, Abduction, Abuse, BAMF Hermione Granger, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Headmaster Snape, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kidnapping, Nightmares, PTSD, Protective McGonagall, Protective Narcissa, Slow Burn, Torture, Whump, bamf tonk’s, bellatrix is literally insane, gay ginny, hermione has flaws, queer hermione, still fluff tho i’m not a monster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunriseshades/pseuds/sunriseshades
Summary: On the night of the “7 Harry’s” Hermione sacrifices herself and is captured by death eaters to be tortured for information.This event sets the Deathly Hallows on an entirely different course. Hermione is altered by the events at Malfoy Manor, and refuses to spend the war hiding in the forest in the search of horcruxes, but decides to go undercover in Hogwarts itself, which is under the tyrannical reign of Death Eaters.Coincidentally, she is also attempting to ignore her growing feelings towards a particular pink haired Auror, who insists on being her partner in the mission.
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Nymphadora Tonks, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 28
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

“This is your final opportunity to change your mind. Once we leave for Harry’s, there is no going back” Kingsley Shaklebolt’s deep and authoritative voice swept across the living room of The Burrow like an omen. From her position on the sofa, Hermione allowed the gravity of the words to seep into her skin, which was chilled despite the warm summer air. Despite the many inhabitants from the room, the silence that followed was heavy enough that Hermione could hear her own heartbeat hammering in her chest. Fred and George wore expressions of uncharacteristic seriousness, Bill brought his arm tighter against Fleur, while Remus’s eyes glazed over in a look of wisdom that frightened her slightly. Ron had gone pale, yet still had the same look of brazen determination that she had seen all too often in their years of friendship. 

“Best get this show on the road then” Tonks said slightly, shattering the silence. She was sat in the armchair closest to the twins, lent forward with her elbows on her knees; her posture more distinctly masculine, despite how her neon pink hair flickered in the blazing light of the flames. 

Moody glared at her, but the metamorphagus only met his gaze unwaveringly, and for some reason this made Hermione’s stomach lurch. She’d always known that Tonk’s playful and easygoing nature hid a more serious part of her - no one becomes an Auror without a great deal of intelligence and bravery, let alone the protégée of Alastair Moody, yet there were few moments where the depth of her character was displayed in such a way. 

“This part you’re better off not telling Harry” Mad-Eye began in his usual harsh, almost growling voice, “or Molly for that matter” he added, glancing in the direction of the garden, where Mrs Weasley had been furiously battering gnomes in an attempt to calm her anger at the night’s plan. 

Mad-Eye then began distributing identical viles that held an imposing navy colour, like that of a sky before a storm. She accepted one from Ron, who gave her a quizzical look, but she only shook her head slightly in feigned ignorance. However, Hermione had read too many war stories to not know what potion was held in the vile. 

“If all goes to plan, you’ll hand me back the viles and I won’t hear a word about it afterwards. If there’s an attack, I don’t want to see any expelliarmus bullshit. You hex to kill, or at the very least maim them beyond recovery” Mad-Eye instructed darkly, his fake eye swivelled towards Hermione, and she fought against the urge to shrink under his scrutiny. It went against everything she had been taught about the ethics of magic to deliberately kill another person, and it was hardly a spell that could be practiced, but she told herself that if it came to it - she would give it her all. “If you find yourself captured and disarmed- they’re not going to kill you, that would be a waste, they’ll do everything they can to get information out of you. Ron and Hermione; you’re the most at risk, you’ve got seven years of information in your skulls. They’ll know not to push you too far, to keep you on the edge of sanity, and do it over and over again, until eventually you tell them everything and get us all killed”. 

Hermione felt herself stiffen; images of a body flailing and seizing under the cruciatous curse flooding through her mind’s eye, first it was Ron’s face, then Fred and George, Charlie and Bill’s, the family she’d come to know for all this time. She clenched her eyes by the time the images morphed into Fleur, Remus and Tonks. She had to stay focus, and set her attention back to Mad-Eye’s voice. 

“But we’re not going to let that happen. Drink this and you’ll be dead before it hits your stomach, quick and painless”. 

Hermione watched as Fleur blanched and buried her face against Bill’s chest, Ron had turned a disturbing shade of green, and she planted a hand on his knee to steady him. 

“Fucking hell Mad-Eye” George let out, moving the small vile in his hand. 

“It’s only a precaution” Shaklebolt added, as though that made the situation any less grim. 

Hermione wrapped her hand around the small, glass vile in her hands. The thought that something so small and insignificant as a few drops of liquid could stop her heart beating in mere seconds left her feeling empty somehow; the fragility of existence hallowed her bones and numbed her mind to its usual depth. 

“Any questions?” Mad-Eye asked, hitting his cane roughly against the wooden floor. “Good, then we’ll get ready to leave”. 

Hermione’s legs were stiff with tension as she rose from the sofa, and she focused did her best to not get swept up in the commotion that the room had exploded into. With people walking in every direction, indistinguishable words and orders filling the air. 

She jumped when she felt a hand land on her shoulders, only to relax again when she saw that it was Tonks; grinning despite the atmosphere of the room. 

“Nervous?” She asked, quiet enough around the buzz of nose to make their conversation private. 

Hermione couldn’t bring herself to lie, she knew that the other witch would see right through her. 

“Don’t let Mad-Eye get to you, he gets a kick out of scaring the shit out of everyone” Tonks answered confidently, she dropped an arm over Hermione’s shoulders as the group began to make their way through the hallway and out the door. While she never usually enjoyed being touched unnecessarily, she found comfort in how the anchoring weight grounded her, and for a few seconds her mind was empty of worries and concerns, and all that existed was her and Tonks. 

“How do you get over it - feeling scared, I mean?” she found herself asking. She never liked to make herself vulnerable like this, but if anyone would have an answer it would be Tonks, who had trained under Mad-Eye since she’d graduated. 

To her surprise, Tonks laughed and shook her head slightly, her olive skin lightening as they stepped into the moonlight. Hermione blushed; it had been a stupid question to ask, and the Auror must now think she was an idiot. 

“There’s no getting over it. I still nearly shit myself with fear before every mission, but that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” Tonks winked at her before turning to talk to the twins, and Hermione found herself rooted at the spot, unable to look away as the woman walked away. 

It was a further ten minutes before the group were able to aparate form The Burrow to Private Drive, the delay being down Mrs Weasley insisting on giving a thorough goodbye, which was only fair considering that all but one of her brood were about to partake in a life threatening mission. That being said, it never failed to amaze Hermione that there was no difference in how Mrs Weasley treated her and Harry in comparison to her other children, while it had perhaps taken a bit longer than with Harry, who had never had a mother figure in his life - unlike herself, Mrs Weasley both dotted and berated Hermione endlessly. 

“You be safe” Molly whispered, cupping Hermione’s face with a warm hand, 

“Of course” she responded with false confidence, but when the older woman hugged her and Hermione was able to breathe in the comforting ambrosial scent that filled her mind with memories summers and christmas’s spent at The Burrow; of sitting around the dinner table playing impossible card games, of debating politics with Bill and teaching Mr Weasley what a landline was, of when Mrs Weasley had showed her the potions that would ease menstrual cramps; her heart constricted painfully. 

“There’s some fudge waiting for you when you get back, it’s taken two concealment charms to hide it from the boys” Mrs Weasley smiled affectionately, having known that it was Hermione’s favourite dessert though rarely said, and before she could thank the older witch, Mrs Weasley had turned to hug Ron. 

Half an hour later and the group had made it to Harry’s house, deep in the suburbs of Surrey. Of course he had thrown a fit when he was told what the plan was, but she hadn’t expected anything different - she knew it burdened him greatly to have others risk their lives for him, but that was precisely why so many were prepared to do it. 

“It will be fine” she told him quietly as the adults around them went over the route for a final time. Ron acted as a barricade between the three of them and the rest of the room, and for a moment they could pretend they were about to embark on another childish adventure that could land them a bollocking from McGonagall and a detention, rather than their death. 

“I don’t want you to do this for me” Harry answered back, looking defeated. 

“Fortunately it’s not your decision to make” she said in a matter-of-fact tone she knew aggravated the boys. For a moment Harry looked as though he would argue with her, but took a look at the stern gaze in her eyes and thought better of it. 

“Enough of the dawdling” Mad-Eye growled, making them all jump. The three of them shared a look that said “we’ll talk later”, as there was plenty that needed to be discussed. 

Within minutes they had each downed the polyjuice potion and were adjusting to the alienating sensation of being in a body that was not their own, as Mad-Eye and Shacklebolt assigned the dupe Harry’s with an auror. Fleur with Bill, George with Remus, Fred with Mr Weasley, Ron with Shacklebolt;

“Granger, you’re with Tonks” Mad-Eye barked, his swelling eye had not looked away from Mundungus Fletcher since they’d gotten there. 

Hermione made her way to Tonks, and tried to suppress the butterflies in the pit of her stomach at the knowledge that in just minutes she would be flying. Instead she tried to absorb the steadfast confidence that the pink haired Auror radiated. 

“You following me or something, Granger?” she asked easily as the pair made there way out of the hallway for the second time that evening. 

“Hardly” Hermione replied haughtily, resenting the idea that Tonks thought of her as an awkward tag a long, though not as much as she resented herself for even caring at a time like this. 

As Tonks mounted the broom, she scavenged through the pocket of her leather jacket, and after a few seconds let out a whoop of accomplishment. 

“My ears always pop when I fly, but I found some fudge Molly was hiding, always does the trick” she explained, popping some of the caramel coloured sugar in her mouth, all while gauging Hermione’s reaction. 

“You bitch” Hermione accused, eyes narrowed. 

Tonks barked out a laugh almost identical to Sirius’s, and when Hermione mounted the broom behind her, she could feel the vibrations ripple through the other witch’s back. 

“I never said I wouldn’t share!” she defended, and offered her a small cube of fudge, which Hermione took without thought. Perhaps if she could focus on the taste of sugar it would alleviate the nauseating fear that flying induced in her. 

“You all know the rules!” Mad-Eye yelled from in front of them all. “It should be a quick and straightforward night. The only goal is to get Harry from place A to place B with minimum damage. If someone is attacked and goes down, you do not go back to get them, you keep fucking flying, is that understood?”. 

There were a few nods, and Hermione caught Ron looking at her from the other side of the garden, and despite the distance could see the tears brimming in his eyes as clearly as she could feel a tear roll down her own face. Yet before she could say anything, she felt her stomach lurch as Tonks pushed off on the broom and sent them surging into the night sky. 

Within seconds, the icy wind bit mercilessly at every inch of bare skin that Hermione had showing, it burned her eyes and brushed over the exposed skin of her neck that was usually shielded by her hair and took the very breath from her lungs. She wondered if she was hurting Tonks from how tightly she had her (or rather; Harry’s) arms in a death grip across her torso. Still, the Auror flew soared through the sky with an ease and grace that entirely contradicted the fact that she could barely walk on a flat surface without tripping. Hermione clenched her eyes and focused on the texture of Tonk’s jacket on her bare skin, and breathed in the faded scent of cigarettes, oakwood and earth. 

“We’ll be above the clouds soon!” Tonks shouted from in front of her, her voice carrying in the wind and swirling around them. 

“Good to know” Hermione shouted back, her face pressed firmly into Tonk’s back. Her stomach was still clenched with tension, but she could have sworn that she felt Tonk’s smile from the warmth of her body. 

“Open your eyes Granger! It’s fucking magic!” 

She could tell that they had surpassed the thick layer of storm clouds by how still the air had become, the sound of the everbuzzing world below them was muffled like in the first few minutes of a snowy morning. 

“I’d really rather not!” She argued; she could barely watch a Quidditch match without worrying about what would happen if they fell, even though there were protective spells in place. If she was to fall off of this tiny plank of wood, her body would slam into the ground at such a speed it would shatter every bone in her body. 

“Come on, don’t be a pussy!” 

Hermione sat up slightly straighter so to bite back at Tonks, and in doing so her eyes opened on their own accord and drank in the scene in front of her. 

Tonks was right, it was fucking magic. 

The thick layer of white and grey clouds sat meters below them as a dream-like replica of freshly fallen snow, illuminated by the shades of black navy painted a sky that stretched for miles around them. 

She watched as Hagrid and Harry floated into view just ahead of her, guarded closely by Mad-Eye and Mundungus. Then came Remus and George to her left, and Ron and Kingsley, until gradually all of them were soaring through the empty abyss of sky in an awed silence. 

“Reckon someone’s broken out of character” Tonks said over her shoulder, and Hermione followed her gaze to where Bill and Fleur were. Fleur, who was sat in front of Bill on the broom and framed by his long arms, had sat up and stretched her arms in a theatrical gesture, her face wearing an expression of pure bliss. Except it wasn’t Fleur’s face, it was Harry’s. Who’s messy black hair, rather than billowing in the wind as one might idealise in such a romantic scene, tousled and curled like a flightless crow. Hysteria bloomed at the pit of Hermione’s stomach until she was audible laughing, and had to muffle her voice against Tonk’s back, who had thrown her head back which sent her chin length pink hair cascading down her back and onto Hermione’s face. 

In the many weeks that followed that night, this was the memory that Hermione held onto; she replayed it in her mind over and over until the world around her lost meaning and she was once more on the back of Tonk’s broom laughing into her leather jacket and breathing in her scent, with the silent knowing that Harry and Ron were close by and protected, and that they would be home to Mrs Weasley soon. 

Except that’s not what happened. 

The Death Eaters emerged from the clouds like bullets from a gun; their silver masks deflecting the moonlight and dark cloaks billowing around them so that they looked like shapeless demons rather than people. Yet all Hermione could do was watch in abject horror as they closed in on the group of people she loved the most. One shot a curse at Bill, which Fleur combated with a curse that caused the Death Eater to slump and fall from their broom like a ragdoll. Mad-Eye blasted fire from his wand with such ferocity that Hermione felt the smoke warm her face uncomfortably, and soon the entire landscape was filled with flashes of red and green light, bellowing and cries of frustration. 

“George, watch out!” Mr Weasley bellowed with such horror that it made Hermione’s mouth go completely dry. It was too late, a Death Eater sent out a curse that caused George’s head to snap back uncomfortably and forced Remus to redirect the broom. 

“Not today you evil little prick” Tonks spat. However Hermione could tell she was entirely different, her eyes had glazed over in blind concentration, and the way her body moved was indicative of her years of training in battle. She killed the Death Eater that had shot George, but two more filled their place. 

Finally, it occurred to Hermione that she was in fact a witch, and was not about to watch Tonks try to defend them both. 

“SECTUMSEMPRA” she cried out, the hand bearing her wand was completely numb against the force of the wind. There was a flash of blood, and she was close enough to hear the last gasping breaths of her victim before they fell backwards on their broom. 

“Nice one” Tonks shouted, brandishing her wand once more, “cover me!” she added, and Hermione instinctively shielded them from a curse as Tonks then sent one of her own. 

It was then that Hermione turned to the inner side of the formation, and her heart seemed to fall through her body as a distinctive green bolt of lightning hit the motorcycle that Hagrid and Harry were in, and sent them swerving haphazardly. Harry fought back, but it was a losing battle as more Death Eaters swarmed them under the correct impression that he was the true Harry. 

It was at this point that Hermione’s ever inquisitive mind conjured an idea that was so resolute in its existence, that she knew instinctively what had to be done. She barely had time to pray that Tonks would forgive her, because she was definitely about to get them killed. 

With every effort her lungs could muster, she cried with a determination that she felt in the very marrow of her bones. 

“Not Hermione!” She screamed, the deep vibrado of her voice shooting form her chest, “it’s me you want! Take me! Just don’t hurt her!”. 

She watched Harry’s head turn to face her, his face stricken with horror. She heard Ron yell something but couldn’t decipher what, because all she could focus on was that the Death Eaters had turned to face her. 

The chaos intensified then; Tonks brazenly fought off the swarm that encased them both and from every angle members of the order cursed at the Death Eaters, yet like bloodhounds they only grew closer. 

“It’s him! The real one!” A man’s voice shouted,Tonks blasted him off of his broom, and a curse passed so close to her face that both of them felt the electricity of the magic hum in the air. 

“We need him alive, you fool” Another man critiqued, it took a moment for Hermione to place the voice as that of Lucius Malfoy, whose distinct regal tone was filled with malice. He brandished his wand in an elegant movement, and Tonk’s wand flung out of her hand. 

“Fuck!” She shouted, and for some reason seeing the genuine fear in Tonk’s face made Hermione all the calmer in her decision. 

“Get ready to catch him” Lucius ordered, and two robed wizards flew to the opposite side of Hermione and Tonks. 

“Here, take mine” Hermione insisted, pressing her wand into Tonk’s hand. 

“What? Don’t be fucking stupid-“ 

Before they could argue further, Hermione felt a force pummel into her right side and knock the breath from her lungs. For a long moment the world went entirely silent as she was suspended in midair, with only Tonk’s hand gripping the sleeve of her jacket. 

Then she felt two vice-like arms grip her torso and pull her in the opposite direction. Tonks continued to shoot curses with rapidity that Hermione didn’t think was possible, until 9 an ear-splitting crack thundered through the air, and she was pulled away from Tonks so quickly that she could barely make out the shape of her own jacket gripped tightly in the other witch’s hand, before the world around her succumbed to darkness. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Hermione next regained consciousness, her mind felt thick with sleep and her eyes remained firmly closed. It was only as the earthy scent of soil filled her nostrils that she became aware that she was lying on the ground. 

“How can we tell it’s him, we have to know for certain” A female voice hissed, laced with venom. Through the haze, Hermione’s mind conjured the image of Bellatrix, who’s face had haunted her nightmares for weeks following the incident at The Ministry. There was something so distinctly animalistic in the dark witch’s insanity that unsettled her beyond what any words could describe. 

“It is him. Only Potter would be stupid enough to give himself up for a mudblood” Lucius retorted from above her. 

Hermione wondered how many Death Eaters were stood beside her body as if she was already dead in her coffin. The very real thought of death prodded her adrenaline into action once more, and she slowly felt her heart rate increase until she was sure it would be visible through her shirt. 

“Perhaps if you’d paid the slightest attention in potions Bella, you would know that any dunce can extract polyjuice potion”. 

The familiar drawl of Severus Snape sent every hair on Hermione’s body on edge. A voice that had once a childish fear of an intimidating Professor, to her body’s natural instinct to someone she knows would kill her in a heartbeat, just like he had Dumbledore. Any man who could lie and betray one of the smartest Wizards of all time for over a decade was one to be terrified of. Therefore it was no surprise that she stiffened when she felt him kneel by her head, and withdraw something from his cloak. 

The liquid that was poured down her throat produced such a vile burning sensation that Hermione shot up instantly, ignoring the dizziness that followed and violently vomiting the contents of her stomach. 

She heard violent mutters along the lines of “Fucking disgusting” and felt her cheeks burn with shame as her body shifted into it’s natural form; her gait shrinking from gangly to slight, hair blooming around her face like a shield. 

She felt herself being grabbed roughly by the upper arms and pulled to standing, where she met the cold eyes of Lucius Malfoy, whose stoic expression darkened instantly. 

“You’re fucking dead Lucius” Dolohov said beside him, his own black eyes gazing widely at Hermione, “he’s going to kill you for this”. 

Lucius turned his head to speak, but in two steps Bellatrix had pushed Dolohov to the ground and brandished her wand in the direction of the other Death Eaters, who had all taken a step back. 

Hermione found it difficult to process the fact that Bellatrix was in fact merely inches from her, like the monster from an all too real childhood dream that lurked in the corner of dark rooms and under beds. Her raven black curls extended in every direction and was a stark contrast to her alabaster skin. Every angle of her face looked as though they had been carefully designed by a madman, from the hollowness of her cheeks to the deep set way of her marble eyes, which deflected light like a cat. 

“Useless” she whispered slowly, and Hermione could almost see the chaos that occurred within the other woman’s mind, as though there were voices that no one else could hear. “Fucking useless!” Her scream echoed against the stone wall of Malfoy Manor, and from a distance a flock of birds fled from their spot beneath a tree. Hermione didn’t flinch, both because she was frozen in terror and wanted to at least die standing. “Avada Kad-“ 

“Let’s not be reckless Bella” Snape said in a bored tone. His partially shielded Hermione from her would-be killer, and for a moment she was reminded of an event years prior, when he had been their unexpected saviour when Remus had transformed under the full moon and was set on killing them. She wondered now why he had bothered saving her and Ron, when clearly he wanted them all dead in time. 

“What is it Severus?” Bellatrix hissed, “I should have known you’d have a bleeding heart” 

“I can assure you, Granger’s life is of no concern to me. However the same cannot be said for the information she holds. I do believe the Dark Lord would be most displeased to discover that we had lost such a valuable source of information because of your own lust for death”. 

Realisation dawned on Hermione in an instant, and turned her blood to ice. How could she not have remembered what Mad-Eye had warned?! In blind panic she reached for the vile, but then the image of it wedged in her coat pocket that Tonks had ripped off of her body entered her mind. Of course they weren’t going to kill her! They were going to make her wish for death, and was going to have to bite her tongue in order for everyone she knew to survive.


	2. the first torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Hope you enjoyed this chapter and let me know your thoughts as well as stuff you want to see in the future.

“Got a smoke on you, Dora?” 

Tonks barely shifted her gaze from the rolling fields of the countryside as she reached into the inner pocket of her jacket and pulled out two cigarettes, as Remus sat himself beside her on the concrete step. If he noticed the tear tracks on her face, he didn’t say anything. 

“It’s all gone to shit Moony” she said wistfully, she’d frayed her vocal chords from screaming, and her throat burned in protest. 

Remus rubbed his face in his hands, and sighed, his shoulders sagging. 

“I know”. 

In the end, Mad-Eye had been forced to knock both Harry and Ron unconscious. Nobody could have anticipated the scale of their rage, how they had shouted and screamed that they had to go back, that they couldn’t just leave Hermione to die. Harry had threatened to leave by himself, and had been barely a second away from apparating before Remus had restrained him, which earned him a black eye. 

“He’s not going to trust any of us after that, you realise that right?” Tonks said defiantly, as Bill and Fred hauled the boys up to their room. Ginny remained on the sofa with George, adamantly refusing to go to her room, which she’d been supposed to share with Hermione as they had done for years. 

“He’ll have to get over it” Mad-Eye sighed, limping toward the kitchen, but Tonks followed him, where Arthur was holding a distraught Molly, who’s sobs had been so great that the very walls of the house seemed to creak beneath her grief. 

“Get over it?! You made the decision to leave his best friend to die, and you think he’ll just get over that?” She said incredulously. She could feel the resentment boiling in the pit of her stomach, though frankly it was more targeted at herself than her mentor. 

“It was her own decision; and a very brave one. She was a brilliant witch, Dumbledore always said” Mad-Eye said, in an attempt to sound diplomatic. The sound of Hermione being referred to in the past tense made her mouth run dry. 

She slammed the two vials onto the table, and the room froze. 

Remus was the first to break the silence, “Dora… what have you done?” 

Before she could answer, Mad-Eye had launched himself at her; slamming her into the wall with strength that didn’t match his age. But Tonks wasn’t afraid of him, not really. 

“Do you realise what you’ve done?” Mad-eye growled, teeth bared like an animal. The scars that stretched over his face slithered and stretched tenuously. “We’re lucky if there aren’t Death Eaters circling us this very second! You’ve endangered us all!” 

“She’s strong, Mad-Eye! I couldn’t just let her die like that, that’s why we have to go back and get her” Through her anger, Tonk’s was also pleading; she felt the tips of her fingers and nose taint purple out of desperation. Only to be thwarted when Mad-Eye turned and threw a vase across the room, which missed Arthur’s head by barely an inch. 

“She’ll be begging for death right now, you know that, don’t you?” he roared, “after they’ve bled all our names and location from her head the only thing she’ll wish for is that fucking potion, and the last thought she’ll have is wondering why you would choose to make her suffer instead”. 

The words pierced through her like a knife through flesh, and she found herself fighting for breath. She’d known that Hermione would suffer for her decision, but when she had looked into the brunette’s eyes moments after she had tricked the Death Eaters, she couldn’t bring herself to let the ending of Hermione’s life go on in such a way. 

Without realising, Tonks felt Molly Weasley stubbornly wedge herself between her and Mad-Eye, and pushed the older wizard slightly so that she could eye him up. 

“Enough of this!” She beckoned, “Someone tell me what is going this instant! What in Merlin’s name are those potions for?”

It was Remus who ended up explaining it to Molly, the idea seemed all the more horrific as he watched the Weasley Matriarch process the information. Contrary to their expectations, her anger did not cause her to shriek and curse as it usually did; this anger brought her voice to that of a whisper that made the entire room go cold. 

“Arthur” she said slowly, “you… you knew about this?” 

Tonks had to look away, the heartbreak in Mrs Weasley’s usually kind features stabbed at her heart painfully. Thankfully, she tore her attention from her husband and towards Mad-Eye, Remus, and Kingsley. 

“I trusted you all” she half whispered, “with the lives of my children! I have given my home to use as a safe house, I have sat in every meeting, cooked your every meal and washed your clothes, for you to lie to my face?” 

“it was necessary -“ Mad-Eye began, but was cut off when Molly pointed her wand directly at his chest. 

“Don’t talk to me about what is necessary, Alastair” she seethed, “while one of my children has a hole in the side of his head, two you’ve knocked out in my own living room, and one has been captured by Death Eaters!” 

Tonks had left after that; numb against the eerie cold of the summer night, she couldn’t shake the feeling of Hermione’s arms wrapped around her torso, or the sound of her careless laugh against the wind. What a time it was, to see for the first time how beautiful the young witch was. Tonks always did choose her moments well. 

“You’re still planning on rescuing her, aren’t you?” 

She jumped slightly at the sound of Remus’ voice, having forgotten that he was beside her, and blew out a puff of smoke. 

“ ‘Course I am” she said with ease. Though at the back of her mind guilt festered restlessly; she didn’t know if she could live with herself if Hermione died because she had failed to protect her. 

“Good” was all Remus said, turning his gaze to look up at the blanket of stars above them. 

“Good? Thought you were all about being Mr Practicality” she accused, referencing his black eye. He only half smiled. 

“I’ve seen grief like Harry’s before, and it will eat him alive if he loses Hermione. She is the glue that has kept him and Ron together for so long” He said wistfully, and Tonks leaned against his side. 

—————————————————————————————————————

Hermione had never given much thought as to what Voldemort looked liked - while she and Ron had dragged every detail from Harry, there were very few people who had ever met the Dark Lord who then lived to account for his appearance. Moreover, it was difficult to comprehend that a source of such unspeakable terror and fear could exist within a coporeal form. 

But he did, and she was looking at him. 

She had been dragged kicking and screaming by Bellatrix Lestrange as the fleet of dark robed wizards followed suit; the sound of their footsteps like gunshots against the tall ceilings of Malfoy Manor. When two ornate doors swung open to reveal a dimly lit hall, filled with only a fireplace that cackled with green flames and caressed the silhouette of the Dark Lord. 

The room was instantly hushed, the Death Eaters formed in two orderly lines at either side of; their unmasked faces bowed in reverence. 

“My Lord” Bellatrix hissed, and Hermione felt her throat constrict in panic as the man in question slowly turned around. 

If anything; he was more serpent than human; with milk white skin and blue veins that pulsated and glimmered under the green hue; with red slits for eyes and a shapeless nose that fell flat against his face. He made a sign with his hand, which was like that of a skeleton, and Bellatrix pushed Hermione so that her knees slammed into the wooden floor and she was forced to kneel. 

“Ah” Voldemort breathed, and his voice was like a thousand winds pushing against mountains, “Potter’s Prized Mudblood” he said, as if the name was her title. 

The words sunk deep into Hermione’s veins like poison, as images flashed through her mind - the look of disgust on Malfoy’s face when he had first called her it in first year, the blind rage and humiliation when Fred and George fumbled to explain what it meant; someone dirty, impure, less than human. 

“I have a name” she whispered determinedly. If she was going to die, she at least wanted to die on her own two feet. 

The Death Eaters behind her erupted in scandalized whispers, and she heard Bellatrix’s indignant cry.

“Silence!” Voldemort barked, a flash of anger flitting across his features before they softened unnatural when he turned his predatory gaze down to Hermione. He looked at her as one might an injured dog, or a horse that was about to be shot in the head. 

“I know your name, Hermione Jean Granger” he hushed, and the sound of her own mother’s name on his flickering tongue made bile boil in the pit of her stomach, “I have learnt much about you from your beloved Professor Snape”. 

Against her will, her eyes flickered to the tall, gangly man whom she had once admired, and a lump formed in her throat. She had trusted him, they all had - and he had played them for fools. How stupid he must have thought she was, how utterly blind to the harsh reality that the Potion’s Professor she had insisted on respecting would betray her to the Dark Lord. 

Snape’s dark eyes bore into her; unfeeling, as Voldemort continued to speak. 

“Do not fret, dear Miss Granger: there is space for you in my world if you choose it. You don’t think I would let such brilliance go to waste, do you?” he tutted, inching towards her so that she was forced to crane her neck upwards to maintain eye contact. “You see, I appreciate that every magical being has a role to serve in the hierarchy of our society. However, the role of mudbloods has been...defiled” he hissed, “your abilities would be put to better use by serving your superiors. Imagine if you will, Miss Granger, a separate school for muggleborns to learn the values of submission and servitude. Then when they are of age, can live out their lives in the household of a pureblood family; maintaining the household, caring for children, or perhaps-“ Voldemort stood straighter and looked up at the audience, “providing a warm mouth on a cold night”. 

Hermione’s vision blurred and her ears filled with the sound of her own blood gushing through her ears. His agenda was worse than anything she could have possibly conceived; a dystopian hellscape of unimaginable sustained torture that surpassed the chaos of war and instead was about restructuring the nature of their world. She saw herself at fifteen years old, sitting opposite Professor McGonagall’s office with her predicted O.W.L grades gleaming on the parchment between them. 

“You could do absolutely anything you put your mind to, Miss Granger” her head of house had beamed, possibly the highest praise she had ever given a student, “While it would be a privilege to have you as a colleague, I believe a mind like yours belongs in politics”. Hermione had left that meeting feeling as though she was floating on air. 

Her memory was punctured by Voldemort’s rasping voice, “all I ask in return, Miss Granger, is the location of the safe house that Harry Potter is being kept”. 

The room fell silent once more as his gaze pierced into her skin. The full address of The Burrow gleamed in Hermione’s mind in neon lights, as she forced herself to take a deep breath in to steady herself. 

“I would rather die” 

“Ungrateful whore!” Bellatrix screeched, only to succumb to whimpers when Voldemort struck her with a flick of his wand. 

“A pity” he said simply, before reaching out his skeletal hand and gripping her face tightly, his skin felt both slimy and rough at the same time, and it set every nerve in Hermione’s body on fire. “Would you not like her as a servant, Severus?” he asked, turning to look at his most loyal follower. 

In that moment, Hermione felt less than human; as if she was just an empty shell to be valued. 

Moments of tense silence followed before Snape spoke, in a tone that was both terse and dark. 

“I’m afraid I find her incessant talking unbearable, My Lord. To own her in any capacity would be utterly intolerable”.

The words shouldn’t have hurt, but they did. The sting at being unwanted burned through her, and was heightened as laughter erupted within the room, including by Voldemort himself. 

“A fair evaluation, Severus. Perhaps she would best serve a younger master” Voldemort said, his eyes closing in on a far corner of the room, “Draco; come”. 

Hermione froze. She had known that Draco was a Death Eater for months now, that he had even been instrumental in Dumbledore’s death, but somehow as she watched the familiar fair haired boy walk into her line of sight; her whole body stiffened at the betrayal. 

Draco looked awful. His once handsome features were tainted with exhaustion and tension; his blue eyes were a faded grey, with purple bruises dotted around them, and his exquisite robes hung from his thin frame pitifully. Hermione wanted to hate him, she craved the unfiltered rage that had brought her fist to collide with his face all those years ago, but as his terror stricken eyes met hers she had only one thought. 

What are we doing here?

How had it come to this? Were they not childhood enemies moments ago? Had they not watched one another go through all the trials of adolescence, slept in the same castle, studied in the same library, and existed in the same world? Except Hermione found it near impossible to recognise what had become of the world around her, and something told her that Draco felt the same. 

“What say you, Draco, about having Miss Granger at your disposal in your future household?” Voldemort taunted, lipless mouth edging closer to Draco’s ear. Before he could answer, the Dark Lord added, “you would have to know how to make her do your bidding, to tell you all the secrets she keeps in that mind of hers. How do you propose to do that?” he asked, looking down at the wand poking out of his robe pocket. Draco gulped, and the slow realisation crept on Hermione. 

It was inevitable, however nothing truly prepares one’s nervous system for being on the receiving end of a crucioutous curse. 

With a trembling hand, Draco pulled out his wand from his pocket and aimed it straight at her face, she could hear her own short gasping breaths punctuating the cold air around them. 

“I’ll ask you once more, Miss Granger. Where is Harry Potter?” 

Hermione said nothing; she pressed her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth and willed her mind to go blank. She could endure this. She had to. 

“Crucio!”

Hermione clenched her eyes shut and squealed as a slight stinging sensation throbbed around her throat, much like the sting of a bee. It took a few seconds to process that the spell had been unsuccessful, as the room filled with tutts and awkward coughing, she opened her eyes to see Draco’s face turn impossibly whiter. 

“That won’t do, Draco. Give some feeling into it” Voldemort instructed, and Hermione had just enough time to hold her breath as Draco jabbed his wand in her direction. 

“Crucio!” he let out in a strangled yell. 

This time, she felt her breath being knocked out of her, and scorching heat prickle beneath her skin. Yet the sensation lasted all of five seconds before it disappeared, and she was able to gasp for air. 

“Pathetic!” Voldemort hissed in a sudden burst of anger, before regaining composure, “perhaps raising the stakes will boost your motivation. Narcissa, come forward” he breathed. 

Clarity swept across Hermione’s mind, and it was in that moment that she recognised the raw horror of Draco’s situation, and as she heard Narcissa’s slow footsteps approach from behind her, she imagined her own mother’s sweet face at the receiving end of a cruciatous curse. 

“No! No - I can do it” Draco yelped, his voice breaking mid way. He straightened his shoulders and stiffened his arm, but his eyes still reflected the chaos of his mind. 

Almost imperceptibly, Hermione brought her head down once. “It’s okay Draco” she said in her mind, “I forgive you”. 

The pain was both instantaneous and all consuming, and nothing comparable to anything she had ever experienced before: as though scolding lava boiled at her core and singed every nerve ending in her body into ash. The pain coiled itself like a vice around her heart and squeezed, alighting every limb in her body until she was writhing on the floor and slamming her hand against the oak panels; desperate to feel any other pain beyond the blinding acid that fumed within her. Her very consciences fractured into a thousand invisible shards, her ego bled from her mouth as she cried, and she could no longer recall her own name, instead her memory was filled only with the existence of endless agony. In the distance, she heard a crazed and guttural scream that tore through her, and it wasn’t until many moments later than she realised that it was coming from her. 

In hazy bursts; awareness returned to her body, and she could feel herself seizing uncontrollably; splinters dug into her cheeks, and her breaths came in rugged bursts. She felt herself being kicked roughly from the side, which manoeuvred her to be lying flat on her back, staring into the eyes of the snake-like creature that loomed above her. 

“I will allow you some time to reconsider your options, Miss Granger” Voldemort taunted, “Bellatrix; take her to the cellar”.


	3. chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reviewing! It gets a bit heavy in this chapter, and the story is going to move a bit quicker from this point, I just wanted to preface by showing what a shitty time our gal Hermione is having.

The cell that Hermione was held in was no more than an unkempt boiler room. In fact, she was chained by her feet to a large brass pipe, which barely allowed the range of motion to pace anxiously along the side wall. The room was engulfed in darkness, with only the faint stream of light from the staircase filtering through the metal bars, the walls were slimy with mildew, and only a threadbare blanket decorated the space. 

Overcome with exhaustion, Hermione slid down the wall and curled into herself. Every inch of her body ached from the impact of the cruciatous curse, and occasionally her leg would spasm uncontrollably in the aftershock and she was forced to grit her teeth until it subsided. Her thoughts were equally erratic; the more she attempted to control them, the more they buzzed in a hurried stream of consciousness that blocked out the rest of the world. How long would she be held here? How long did Voldemort plan on keeping her alive? Did Harry and Ron think she was already dead? The thought was like a punch in the stomach. Although she knew that it was the most practical way to handle the situation, she knew how stupid and hard headed her boys were, and would probably fight Mad-Eye tooth and nail to try and get to her, which would be a useless endeavour. 

Then her mind turned to Tonks. What had she been thinking? Surely such sentimental traits must have been drilled out of her from years of training under Mad-Eye. Except Tonks had never been one for rules - her very existence defied the laws of evolution. Hermione felt the ghost of a smile tug at her lips as memories of the older witch’s sleepy, unco-ordinated form stumbling into the kitchen with her eyes half closed, her demanding cockney accent bickering with Charlie like they were siblings, or when she would morph into one of the twins - and the three of them would push Mrs Weasley to the brink of insanity. 

That night Hermione’s last conscious thought was the sweet smell of lavender and cigarettes. 

When she woke up, her muscles stiff from lack of moment and her mind was thick with disorientation. Strangely, it reminded her of being a child and accidentally falling asleep in the car after a long drive, to then wake up in her bed hours later with no idea how she’d gotten there. Gradually the memories resurfaced, and she tentatively stretched her limbs and planted her hands on the grimy, damp ground; she was still here. 

Ever so slowly, she stood, though cringed at the obnoxious clanking of the chains as she moved to the gate and peered upwards; unlike earlier there was no one standing guard, instead she could just about make out the vast open space of the ceiling of the hall, and she could pretend that it was the sky. 

In an attempt to keep her mind sharp and manage the anxiety that had begun to creep up her spine, she paced alongside the wall and counted. It took ten pigeon steps to cross the width of the room versus only four normal steps, the chain allowed her to reach roughly two thirds of the length of the cell. There were four hundred and sixteen bricks that made up the four walls, the gate had thirteen steel bars, one of which had teeth marks in it. 

Long hours passed, and Hermione’s mind wandered precariously over potential method of escape, but each one became more and more unrealistic. She could pretend to be dead, but then what? That would get her out of the cell at least, then she would still be wandless in a household full of Death Eaters, she didn’t fancy her chances. What would Mad-Eye suggest if he was there with her? Probably that she try to cave her own skull in. 

Suddenly, she heard movement on the other side of the staircase, and she hurried back to the wall, her body freezing as controlled footsteps hit each concrete step, before a face peered in through the bars. 

It took a second to process who it was, as she had only ever seen his face in newspapers. Corban Yaxley was a distinctive looking man, with tanned leather like skin and a strong roman nose, his fair hair was tied back and gave him the appearance of an old age artistocat. 

“Come here, Hermione” he beckoned, his scottish twang echoing in the small changer. 

Hermione did not move, but stared wide eyed at the intruder. 

“I’ve got a gift for you” he said lyrically, and pulled out a rolled up newspaper from his robes. She took in a sharp breath - what if it was something important? Ever since joining the Wizarding World she had read the newspaper religiously - not as a source of factual information, but rather a cultural staple. She wanted to know if the Ministry had anything to say about the violent muggle deaths that had been occurring recently. 

Slowly, she edged forward, eyes locked on the paper that was dangling on her side of the gate, but just as she reached to grab it, Yaxley withdrew his hand and stood straighter. 

“Not so fast” he chastised, “let me have a good look at you” 

There was something in his voice - the dark lustre beneath feigned innocence - that made the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck rise, and she took a step back. 

“Now, now, no need to be shy” Yaxley soothed, as though comforting a wild animal, “if I wanted to have you, you’d be on the floor already”. 

The sickening realisation burned her throat, mainly because it was the truth. If Yaxley - or any man for that matter - wanted to rape her, she would be utterly powerless to stop them. In that moment of utter vulnerability, Hermione wanted her mother. 

Realising the direness of the situation, and that the more she disobeyed Yaxley the angrier he would get, she neared the gate once more and forced herself to hold his unnerving gaze as the man looked her up and down, breathing in every inch of her body as though she was already naked. When he reached out his hand, she closed her eyes, hissing as his rough hand caressed her neck and danced on her collar bones, as if his mere touch defiled her in some way. 

“You know they say that you’re Potter’s Whore” he said, his gravely voice vibration in her ear, “are you?” 

Hermione swallowed. It was a rumour that had existed almost as long as her friendship with Harry’s had, ever since she was twelve years old people whispered in the corridors about her. As she got older, the rumours became more vile; and at the ripe age of fourteen her face had been plastered on one of the top selling magazines as a lying harlot that broke Harry’s heart and was instead chasing Victor Krum - even Mrs Weasley had been turned against her for a while. There was something so cruel in knowing that such a rumour would likely follow her to the grave - regardless of any achievements she’d attained, all the challenges she’d overcome, some people would never believe that she could achieve success out of her own merit. 

“I didn’t realise you wrote for a gossip column, Yaxley” she said stiffly. 

He ignored her comment, his fingers still lingered along her neck, “do you want to know what I think?” he asked, unbothered by her silent glare, “I think you’re too frigid to be a whore. But I could make you one” 

All at once his hand gripped the back of her neck and pulled her forward so that the freezing bars dug into her face painfully. Then his tongue was inside of her, hot and slimy and disgusting, probing it’s way down her throat until she gagged. 

When sense finally came to her, she pulled back with all her might and slapped his hand away from her, but he was already chuckling in a self congratulatory way, and threw the newspaper into the cell. 

“Anything else I can do for you, pet?” he offered generously, and just as Hermione was about to shout back an insult, the burn of thirst in her throat made itself known, and the part of her that was insistent on survival forced her to suppress her pride. 

“I need some water” she demanded, unease settling as Yaxley began to fumble in his robes. 

“Well, I could certainly give you something to drink” 

She barely missed the line of piss aimed in her direction, and watched in disgust as the stale stench invaded her nostrils. 

She waited long after Yaxley was gone, the feel of his tongue down her throat made her shiver, and she shook her head to get rid of it - she had to focus. Carefully, she straightened the newspaper with trembling hands, her eyes darted across the headline. 

“SCRIMGEOUR FOUND DEAD” 

Hermione read the paper cover to cover, drank in every word as though it was the gospel, and tried to interpret the gravity of it’s meaning. Not only had Death Eaters infiltrated the Ministry, but they were no longer being subtle about it; there was no mention of attacks against muggles, however there were three pages designated to report numerous crimes committed by muggleborns; a man murdering his pureblood wife, a woman trying to con an old man out his business, and a Healer who had reportedly forged her credentials. Her eyes scanned the page of obituaries, and reread it three times before she was satisfied that she knew none of the names. 

She wasn’t sure how much time she spent reading and rereading the newspaper, rolling a hundred trails of thought that popped up at every headline and paragraph, but it must have been hours. When the gate jangled to life, the sudden noise made her jump and slowly rise to her feet - only to fall as a cramp crippled the muscles in her leg. Instead she scrambled close to the wall like a frightened animal, as Lucius Malfoy entered the cell. 

“Ah, Miss Granger - how are you finding your room? I do hope it is to your liking” he teased, his rich aristocratic tone as arrogant as ever. 

Hermione said nothing. 

“See if you can tell me how long you’ve been kept here, in my dungeon” he asked, and her mind hurried to quantify the endless stretch of time that seemed to have occurred between her being abducted to where she was now. 

“A few days?” she said, her voice cracked. She would need water soon, or something to eat. 

Lucius Malfoy grinned like a cheshire cat. “Wrong, I’m afraid - you’ve just about hit the twenty four hour mark”. 

She was instantly consumed by a falling sensation, like the rug had been pulled beneath her feet, her mind scrambled to make sense of it. 

“That’s not possible” she whispered, as he drank in her terror. 

“Oh my dear Miss Granger, you lack imagination - among other things” he said, and took a step closer towards her, “my great grandfather built this house, and with it a wonderful old time manipulation spell in the foundations of this room; every hour is three times as long down here. I suppose it gives you more time to consider your options”. 

He took another step towards her, and Hermione tried once more to scramble to her feet, only to collapse as Lucius dug the heel of his cane into her rib. 

“However, it also means it’s rather easy to forget about you down here. Are you hungry, darling?” he said with a mocking pout, unwrapping a silver package from his robe. 

Hermione’s stomach groaned in protest and her eyes became transfixed as heat began to rise from the wrap; the scent of chicken and tomato’s filled the air and she had to close her eyes, because there had to be a catch. 

Lucius took a large bite from the meal, and dropped the rest on the mud stained ground. 

“Go on, don’t let it go to waste” he encouraged, nodding his head in the direction of the contaminated food, which looked like something that Hagrid would refuse to feed Fluffy, but the look in Lucius’ cold eyes told her that he was deadly serious. 

For a few moments, she played into his fantasy. She crawled tentatively on her knees until her body was by his feet, and her stomach sank in the disappointment of not being able to eat. Forcing the regret from her mind, she brought her right arm up and grabbed the end of Lucius’ cane before jutting it upwards so that it hit him in the face. 

It was a stupid endeavour, she could admit that, and in an instant Lucius had recovered himself pressed his foot hard into the middle of her back until she was pressed hard into the ground; so close to Yaxley’s puddle of piss, in fact, that it soaked into the ends of her hair. 

“Insolent brat” Lucius spat. He rolled her over with his foot before landing a solid kick so hard into her side that she heard a nauseating “crack” emitted from one of her ribs. He then brought his cane up to the injured area and pushed, until Hermione was left spluttering and gagging for air; her nails clawing desperately at the ground.

“Lucius!” a female voice hissed from the stairway. 

“Coming now, angel. I was just getting her ready” he said whimsically, before his eyes darkened and he crouched by Hermione’s head, “I was trying to do you a favour, and now you’re about to face my darling sister-in-law on an empty stomach”. 

Dread bloomed in the pit of her stomach, and she could barely keep up any illusion of composure as Lucius hauled her roughly up the stairs. The faces of Mr and Mrs Longbottom filled her mind; the blankness in their eyes. Tortured so relentlessly by Bellatrix Lestrange that they would spend the rest of their lives in the confines of a hospital ward, playing with blocks of the alphabet, unable to remember their own names. 

The moment that Hermione saw Bellatrix’s alabaster face in the hall, her knees buckled. She could just about make out the shapes of Draco and who she assumed to be Narcissa - stood with their backs at the far end of the wall. 

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Bellatrix said brightly, fiddling with the wand in her hand, “where is Harry Potter?”

Hermione gritted her teeth, and once more pressed her tongue into the roof of her mouth, willing herself to be silent. 

In hindsight, she realised what an utterly ridiculous ploy this was, because the moment that the unforgivable curse hit her body, she was screaming so loudly she thought her jaw would break in two.


	4. chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the 90’s, everybody smokes

It had been ten days since Hermione had been captured. 

Tonks had been walking for hours; methodically covering the parameter of the Burrow since the beginning of her shift on watch duty. She had never been good at sitting still, and it was always exemplified during times of great distress. She spun on her heel, counted the numbers of widows on the west facing side of the house (she never got the same answer twice) then looked back at the empty fields, itching to see the hint of movement. Instead, she had narrowly missed killing a rabbit as it scampered desperately from one end of the garden to the next, then fallen over a discarded shovel and landed straight in a pile of dirt. She had to laugh - the alternative was far less appeasing. 

In truth, she had grown to like working the night shifts. It meant she could avoid the hustle and bustle of the daytime, where the misery was unavoidable. Mad-Eye made sure that she was never alone with Harry or Ron - not that she really wanted to be; it was hard enough sitting across from their grief stricken faces, emerging each morning looking as though they hadn’t slept. Molly and Arthur were just as bad, and Tonks had walked past Ginny’s room to see her folding and refolding Hermione’s pyjamas. Instead, The night was quieter at least, more peaceful. 

Until it wasn’t. 

She heard a loud *crack* behind her and spun round and raised her wand so quickly that she nearly poked Fred’s eye out. 

“Jesus Christ!” she half yelled, “I could have killed you both!” 

“That’s what makes it fun” George said charismatically, 

“Hey! That’s my line!” Tonks replied indignantly. There were few people on Earth who she loved more than Fred and George, and she knew that they both loved her; ever since her first visit to The Burrow in the summer of her third year when they were only eight and could cause more havoc than an army of pixies. She was the one who taught them the rudest jokes, or how to use their magic to make fire (Mrs Weasley had never forgiven her for that one). In turn, they were never anything other than awe inspired by her morphing abilities, and had far more creative suggestions than she was used to, nor did they ever bother asking boring questions - such as if she was dating their older brother. She would always see them as her ingenious little brothers, even if now they were nearly a foot taller than her. 

“We’ve got some catching up to do” Fred said bluntly, and George nodded in agreement. 

“Can’t it wait until morning? I can’t leave my post” Tonks asked, already knowing the answer. 

“‘ Course it can” they said in unison, and Tonks suppressed the urge to grin, “besides, this is business. We should continue in our office” 

“Your office?” Tonks repeated, scrunching her nose in confusion. 

Five minutes later, the three of them were crammed in the long abandoned treehouse that sat at the edge of the Weasley property. Arthur had put blood, sweat and tears into building it “the muggle way” back when Bill and Charlie were little - that was to say; it certainly wouldn’t pass any safety regulations, as it was built on the tallest brand of the tree, and each wooden panel creaked obnoxiously under the unexpected weight of three adult bodies. 

“Remember when me and Charlie used to tell you guys ghost stories up here?” Tonks said; her voice shattering the silence that had formed and causing a flock of birds to startle awake. 

“Wasn’t that the same time you fell out and broke your leg?” George amended brightly. 

“Dickhead” she muttered, and as he artfully dodged the smack that was headed his way, the excess momentum sent Tonks staggering had first out of said window, and was only saved when each of the twins grabbed an arm and hauled her back in. 

“Okay, what’s the real reason you’ve brought me up here, because I have a feeling it’s not to taste test some new products” she said bluntly, pulling out a cigarette. She only hesitated for a second when they each held out a hand before passing them one each, and the pair of them clicked their fingers in sync to summon fire - just like how she’d taught them. 

“You’re right” 

“We’ll cut to the chase” 

“It’s about Hermione”. 

Hearing her name send a stabbing pain through her stomach, even though she’d been expecting it. 

“Yeah? What about her?” She asked, but it was useless. She’d always been shit at lying, or even just feigning ignorance; the tips of her elfin nose and ears blushed pink. 

“We heard you’re planning a rescue mission” Fred prompted, eyebrows raised. 

Tonks sighed, there was no point in asking how they find out - when the twins quite literally had ears in every corner. Frankly she was surprised Mad-Eye hadn’t approached them about becoming Unspeakable’s, though she supposed Molly had made various threats against his life to prevent him from recruiting them. 

“You heard the bollocking Mad-Eye gave me last week. If I go against his orders like that I’ll be stripped of my badge and buried six feet underground - and that’s if I’m even successful” she paused for a moment; breathed in the unnerving silence as the boys stared with disappointment pooling in their accusing eyes, “of course I’m planning a rescue mission” she finished, not able to stand another second of them looking at her like that. 

“Knew it” they beamed, and patted her roughly on the back. 

“So, what do you have in mind?” George asked. 

She told them, in brief, one of the many half formed ideas that had been rattling around in her skull for days on end. Somehow saying it aloud made her feel all the more insane, as did the twins’ reaction. 

“It’s a huge risk” George said, leaning over to tap the remaining ash out of the window. 

“Deadly, I’d say” Fred added, “but I reckon with our help you could pull it off”. 

“No” Tonks said bluntly, “it’s too dangerous, and your mum would have my head on a spike. Plus Harry and Ron can’t know about this, did they set you -“ 

“They’re not the only ones who care about her, you know that” Fred defended. His tone was light - neither of the boys were ever serious for too long, but something in his tone gave away the genuine pang of hurt at the accusation. 

“I know. Shit, I didn’t mean it like that” she sighed, and dragged a hand through her hair. 

“Besides, technically we’re keeping a promise mum made us make years ago” George added. 

“Oh yeah, and what promise is that?” 

“That we look out for our own” Fred began, 

“Ron and Ginny, obviously - but Harry and Hermione come under that as well. Years ago that Malfoy prick called her a you-know-what, she didn’t even know what it meant” George explained, anger lingering in his voice. 

“I mean, don’t get us wrong - we’ve fucked up plenty of times”

“Hermione got petrified back in her first year”

“Ginny nearly died in the chamber of secrets” 

“Ron broke his leg trying to get to Sirius” 

“And Harry has nearly died pretty much every year that he’s been at school”

“But” Fred sighed, and peered out the window to look at his childhood home, “three out of four of them are in there fast asleep - being pretty miserable bastards, mind you - but safe enough” 

“So we’re going to help you rescue Hermione,” George concluded. 

Tonks sat back and rubbed her face with her hands. 

“You’re criminally underrated, the pair of you” she said, resenting the fact that she had become one of the many people who underestimated not only the intelligence, but the kindness of Fred and George Weasley. “We can’t wait much longer to act; they’ll start to let their guard down soon”. 

“I reckon we could be a distraction while you go for the offence” Fred strategised. 

For some reason; perhaps a combination of frayed nerves and exhaustion, and subtle relief in knowing that she was one step closer to reaching Hermione, Tonks smiled. 

“Distraction? I’ll say, I don’t think your mum has finished a sentence since ‘78. Not without saying - “ 

“FRED AND GEORGE!” came Mrs Weasley’s angry screeching from the bottom of the tree. The three of them jumped so violently from their seats that their heads banged against the ceiling in a painful thud. “Are you up there smoking again?! You think I don’t notice when you’re not in the house?!” she shouted. 

Tonks eyed the pair of them accusingly; she could almost hear the cogs turning in their scheming minds, “don’t you -“ 

They apparated before she could finish her sentence. 

————————————————————————————————————-

Hermione had always been under the impression that there was a finite amount of pain that the human body could endure before one’s conscience created a barrier between itself and reality, in the book she’d read it had been referred to as a “self protective mechanism”. She wished to contact the author of said book, and call them a hideous fucking liar, because she could feel each minuscule drop of pain etched into her awareness in vivid detail. 

Granted, there were times when she was alone that her mind conjured realms of nostalgia - such as Professor McGonagall’s classroom, the sacred spot in the common room where she, Ron and Harry congregated most evenings, or of sitting cross legged on the floor with her dad as she taught her how to play chess. Sometimes she could hear their voices long after she’d opened her eyes, and a nagging part of her mind informed her that she was perhaps losing her mind, while another slightly crazed animalistic part would say; why does it matter? 

For hours on end Bellatrix would torture her; and somehow the pain made the sting of Draco’s crucio feel like a gentle caress. Bellatrix was a trained sadist; she knew exactly which parts to target and for how long, until Hermione thought that her body would melt into the ground; and that the toxic acidity of agony had crawled itself into the very marrow of her bones. 

While the cruciatous curse was by far a club favourite, it was by no means the only spell conducted on her - nor was Bellatrix the only witch to do so. Antonin Dolohov had an affinity for rope spells, and would have one wrapped tightly around her neck until she saw white spots in her vision. McNair - the man who almost killed Buckbeak - sliced her skin until blood soaked into the wood. As for Yaxley; he enjoyed watching her dangle upside down by her ankles, and would brush his hands across her face as though he were trying to red words from her skin. He told her that if she begged, then he would stop. 

So she begged. 

Later, when retelling the story of her imprisonment at Malfoy Manor; there were key details that Hermione brushed over, such as how she pleaded until her throat was raw, wept at the feet of Death Eaters and clutched at the ends of their robes pitifully. Or how she ate titbits of food from their hands when they leered at the bars of her cell; her eyes glazed over and humiliation burning at her very core. There was nothing brave about sucking moisture from the moss that grew on the walls, or allowing a hand to wander down her threadbare blue shirt all for a scrap of bread.   
She couldn’t think about it.

Centuries of time seemed to pass until she could no longer distinguish minutes from the hours, or hours from the days; her life became fractured into two primary states of being: one where she was in the hall writhing on the floor in excruciating agony, and another where she was in the cell - her body frozen and paralysed with pain. 

Somewhere along the timeline of endless suffering, the silence was punctured by heavy footsteps thudding harshly against the concrete steps. Summoning the last shred of energy in her malnourished body, Hermione turned her head to identify the intruder, whose breath was so ragged and bracing it sounded more animal than human. 

Fenrir Greyback’s unnaturally tall form extinguished the fragile stream of light that had penetrated the room, and memories of flooded Hermione’s mind. 

“You’ll regret turning down my advances” Yaxley had mumbled into her ear once, after she had batted his hand away from straying too far, “Bellatrix has promised Greyback he could have you when he gets back from his trip, and he won’t be so gentle”. 

She pushed herself up on her elbows and watched in horror as the beast opened the gate and let himself in; his whole body was covered in hair, with sharp pointed teeth and eyes that were completely black. 

“No” she said weakly, bringing a hand up in front of her as if she stood a chance, but he ignored her - he didn’t say a single word. She tried again, hasher this time, adrenaline rushing through her veins so furiously that for a moment she was without pain. This couldn’t happen - not this, anything but this. “Get away from me” she demanded, pushing herself back with her feet until her back collided with the wall. The moment his clawed hand wrapped around her knee, her mind went blank. 

She screamed for her mother. 

She continued screaming as she dug her nails into his impenetrable skin, and kicked and clawed and bit. In the end, it was only when a sudden voice spoke from the corner of the room that caused Greyback to freeze. 

“Get out” the voice said; it was distinctly female, cold and unflinching. Hermione held her breath. 

“I was promised -“ 

It was the first time she had heard Greyback speak, and his voice was so deep it vibrated like a heavy bass through her chest. 

“My sister had no authority to grant such promises, I will not have you commit such heinous acts in my house, nor will I ask you again Wolf. Get. Out.” 

Greyback huffed, and Hermione cringed as his hot breath swept over her face, leaving the smell of rotting flesh lingering like poison in the air. Still, palpable relief washed over her as he pushed himself off of her body, before heaving his heavy form through the gate and up the staircase. 

It was only then that Hermione felt safe enough to move, and every fibre of her being ached tremendously as she sat upright; eyes squinting against the sharp beam of light. 

At first she could only see a blur, which slowly descended into a sharp silhouette of an elegant figure; taller than most women, and the outlines of her hair rested neatly against her robes. 

In the haze of her mind, Hermione thought it was an angel. 

The shadow approached her slowly until she was kneeling on the ground in front of her. Hermione found herself unable to look the creature in the eyes, and turned her face the other way; because there was always a catch, some other form of agony would surely be inflicted on her if not Greyback. She flinched away from the slight touch on her chin. 

“Hush” the woman uttered, sounding as waves do as they lap against the shore. 

Then came the sound of a slight drip; the splash of water in a goblet, like the voice of a kindly God, and instinct overtook her body completely. 

Hermione’s mind emptied itself as she allowed the water to be poured down her throat. She willed it to heal every laceration in her body, felt it’s soft touch slide down her throat and pool into the pit of her stomach, caressing the vulnerable flesh of her internal organs. She began to hear herself gasping for breath, spluttering every few seconds followed by a desperate sigh of relief. 

When the flow stopped, she felt her body go limp, though instead of colliding with the harsh concrete, she fell into velvet robes of her provider. She felt a cool hand cup her cheek, and this time instead of flinching away she leaned into the touch just as earnestly as she had the water; it had been lifetimes since someone had touched her kindly. 

“Close your eyes” the siren whispered, and Hermione stole a few seconds to absorb the sight of her, and was met with the intense grey eyes staring back down at her with such softness that it made her ache inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think and what you would like to see throughout this story, reviews mean a lot to me! Also this story is crossposted on ffnet!


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